


Porcelain bones and red silk blood

by vague_flirting



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: 30 Day Fandom Challenge, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Growing Old Together, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, The Picture of Dorian Gray Fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-06
Updated: 2014-02-06
Packaged: 2018-01-11 09:14:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1171318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vague_flirting/pseuds/vague_flirting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 30 Day Fandom Challenge, Day 4 prompt--"Classic Literature".</p><p>James wasn't bothered by the prospect of immortality, but Q agonized over the fact that his gorgeous lover looked exactly as he did the day they met while he was growing older and older by the second.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Porcelain bones and red silk blood

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually on time posting this today! Yay!
> 
> The "classic literature" prompt is covered by the fact that I shamelessly stole the concept of this fic from Oscar Wilde's novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray". The book is a great read (especially the uncensored version!) if you can get past some of the drier parts that bored me to tears and that one of the main characters gives a speech practically every time he speaks.
> 
> While you don't need to know the plot of "The Picture of Dorian Gray" to understand this fic, [here's](http://www.sparknotes.com/lit/doriangray/summary.html) the link to the Sparknotes summary of the book, if you're interested. Be warned, though, it will spoil you for the book and this fic.
> 
> The 30 Day Fandom Challenge prompt list can be found [here.](http://vague-flirting.tumblr.com/post/75424472855/30-prompts-to-be-completed-over-thirty-days-any)

“You’re being reckless again, James,” Q said angrily as James entered the flat.

James sighed, rubbing his forehead.  This was a constant argument between them, and he was too tired to deal with it.

“It’s my _job_ to be reckless with myself, Q,” James replied wearily.  “Complete the mission, no matter the cost.”

Q stayed silent for a long time, long enough that James had moved to the kitchen to start making a meal for the both of them.

Quiet underneath the sound of meat sizzling in the frying pan, Q asked, “What happens when the doll breaks?”  His voice was vulnerable, exhausted.

After a moment’s hesitation, James turned off the stove.  He went back into the living room, settling himself down on their couch.

“I don’t know,” James answered, finally, voice subdued.

Q scooted closer to James, laying his head of dark curls on one broad shoulder.  James took Q’s hand, stroking the spindly fingers that saved lives and protected the country from threats on a daily basis.

“I worry about you so bloody much,” Q murmured, picking up the porcelain doll on the coffee table with a care that he so very rarely showed.  “It’s been ten years, and it looks like you’ve aged thirty.”

James nodded.  His face looked exactly the same as it did the day Q met him, handsome and aged just enough to make him look respectable.  But that wasn’t what Q was referring to.  Q was talking about the little porcelain doll he was holding.  It was artfully crafted, every feature a perfect likeness to the living, breathing James Bond.  Except the doll looked significantly older.  Its gold hair had gone completely gray, and the wrinkles on its dutifully detailed face were noticeably deeper.  The doll’s expression, once cheeky and bright, was now dull and edging on cruel.  Not to mention the very obvious wounds and scars that decorated the tanned skin, hidden underneath the doll’s miniature Armani suit.  And the doll could be opened up, too, and inside were thin, fragile porcelain bones and tiny organs, all nestled in plush red silk.  The doll’s liver was dark in color and looked clearly diseased from alcohol abuse.  And there were numerous cracks all over the doll, from the many wounds it had seemingly sustained.

“I know you do, love, I really do,” James whispered.  “But I’m scared that without the sense of purpose my job gives me, I’ll fall apart.”

“Your job means so much to you,” Q acknowledged, looking up to meet James’ eyes and resting one hand on his agent’s face.  “But you have to have heard the talk, James.  It’s been ten years since you have been injured, and you don’t look like you’ve aged at all.  We’ve been able to write some of it off as us being together and you having the ‘glow’ of being in love or some such bullshit.  But after being together for ten years and being married for three, it’s really not cutting it anymore.”

James closed his eyes.  “I know I’ll always have you, Q, but what else am I supposed to do with my life, other than being at MI6?”

“We can figure something out,” Q soothed.  “I’ll make you a new identity, off the books.  You can go into corporate espionage, or become a bodyguard.”

James nodded.  “Okay.  I’ll… I’ll think about it, alright?  Give me some time.”

“Of course, James.”

Three months later, James Bond officially retired from MI6.  He held the title of oldest double-oh agent for fifteen consecutive years, and was considered one of the country’s best assets.  Four months after that, Q quit his job.  Q was the youngest-ever appointed Quartermaster, and had been arguably the most efficient Quartermaster ever, reinventing Q-Branch for the new age and tripling its productivity.

Bond assumed a new identity, James Mason, and became a bodyguard for corporate executives.  Q took to consulting companies on their computer security, creating custom protection programs for a hefty fee.  It was a job that Q could do mostly from home, which pleased James.  They spent more time together than ever, and fell in love all over again.  While Bond hadn’t aged a day since he obtained the mystical porcelain doll several months after meeting Q, but Q had.  Q had looked incredibly young when he assumed the position of MI6’s Quartermaster, despite being in his early thirties.  But ten years later, his age had caught him.  Quartermaster was a high-stress job and even though Bond did his best to take care of him, Q often ran on little to no sleep and constantly forgot to eat.

Q loathed seeing himself age as his husband stayed eternally classically handsome.  He’d taken to dying his hair, hating every silvery strand that emerged, and frowned at every wrinkle that emerged.  When he and James had entered a relationship, Q considered them equally attractive, James a chiseled Adonis with just enough signs of age to make him even more alluring, Q with his youthfulness and aesthetically pleasing face.  But now Q looked older than James, despite being over ten years younger.

James constantly reminded Q that he loved him for his brain, not his looks, and would prove it by thoroughly ravishing Q until he was too blissed-out to worry.  Still, James often woke to find Q staring in the bathroom mirror, gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles.

The doll continued growing older and older, and Q worried over that, too.  Q knew James thought himself invincible, but Q knew somewhere deep down that he wasn’t.

Q died on a Thursday.  He was fifty-eight and he’d experienced a fatal heart attack.  James had held him as he died, tears blurring his view of the man he’d spent twenty-five years loving more than life itself.  The former double-oh sat in what used to be their flat for two weeks, in the depth of shock, before going to Q’s funeral.  There were very few other people there, just a handful of Q’s friends.  The last member of Q’s family had died several years ago.  Nobody from MI6.

James went back to their flat after the funeral.  He spotted the porcelain doll, and suddenly, intense anger bubbled up in him.  If it weren’t for the damn doll, Q would’ve been less stressed, and maybe he wouldn’t have unwittingly developed a heart condition.

If it weren’t for that fucking doll, James could’ve grown old with Q, instead of being frozen in time.  Picking up the doll, James wished they’d never accepted the strange gift from the odd woman in an exotic market.  James wanted to see it broken, its now-ancient looking features in jagged shards, its fragile innards shattered.  Lifting his arm, James gathered all of his considerable strength, preparing to throw the abomination at the wall.  He let it fly, watched with pleasure as it sailed through the air along an arc to its destruction, and—

An ancient, ugly body was found in the apartment of James Mason.  Next to it, a porcelain doll of a handsome middle-aged man with gold hair and vibrant blue eyes.  They only knew the body was James Mason because the eyes were the same vibrant blue as his driver’s license photo.

James was buried next to Q.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr! http://vague-flirting.tumblr.com


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